Of Bear Island
by A Girl's Name Is Death
Summary: Lady Lysandra Mormont is the eldest daughter of Maege Mormont, Lady of Bear Island. Lysandra has always expected to marry a lesser lord and take her rightful place as Lady of Bear Island once her mother passes. Unfortunately, a betrothal request from Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell to marry his eldest son with Maege's eldest daughter threatens to change Lysandra's plans.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Most of this belongs to George RR Martin. I just enjoy playing in the world he so graciously created for us.

This story begins before the shows and books, and I have tinkered with the ages a bit. Robb and Jon are seventeen, but Theon is still nineteen.

So, this is my first fanfiction story. I really wanted to get to the meat as quickly as possible, so if you have any major questions about Lysandra, please ask them. However, I do plan to reveal some things as the story progresses and as the Stark family interacts with Lysandra. Also, don't be too harsh on me in the comments…. Please?

I hope you enjoy.

Chapter One

"I will not marry him."

Lysandra Mormont stared her mother, Maege Mormont, the Lady of Bear Island, directly in the eyes as she stood tall in her mother's study. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace, and for a moment, the crackle of the fire was the only sound. Maege gave her head a slight shake before slamming her hands on the desk in front of her.

"Lord Stark has asked this of us, Lysandra, and I cannot refuse him. Not after the disgrace that my nephew brought upon this house."

Lysandra resisted the urge to scream. It had been years since her cousin Jorah had been caught attempting to sell poachers to slavers, and had fled Westeros. Surely House Mormont had redeemed itself by now.

"Mother, I am your eldest child. You have no sons, and Bear Island is rightfully mine. I will marry, but I will marry a lesser lord so that my children will rule over Bear Island. I am the Mormont heir; I am meant to stay on Bear Island and fight for my liege lord when called upon. I am not meant to be Robb Stark's pretty little wife and run his household." Lysandra tossed her light brown hair over her shoulder as she straightened her back until it was ram-rod straight, and she took a deep breath before averting her green eyes to the floor. "Have I dishonored you, Mother? Have I brought shame on our house? Is that why you are taking my birthright from me?"

She heard her mother's boots stomp on the floor as the woman made her way to her eldest child. Maege placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders and squeezed. "You are the most honorable person I know, my child. And if it was enough to redeem the Mormont family, I would let you marry a lesser lord and retain Bear Island, but it is not enough. We need to reinforce our fealty to House Stark and Winterfell, and Lord Eddard has requested this union. We cannot refuse him." Maege placed her hand under her daughters chin so that they looked one another in the eye. "Lysandra, you will strengthen the Stark line with Mormont ferocity and wit. Northerners stand together, and the Starks are our people. You can do this."

Lysandra clenched her jaw in anger, but nodded. Her mother was good at combining guilt and honor, and that is what made Maege Mormont fierce – that and the fact that she had no trouble at all drawing her sword and fighting a man twice her size.

"I will do as requested, then, mother. I will become the next Lady Stark of Winterfell."

* * *

The following day, Lysandra looked back at Bear Island one last time before she mounted her black horse, Storm, and turned to join the small party of men accompanying her to Winterfell. A ship had carried the six men, Lysandra, seven horses, and a cart filled with her clothing and personal effects from Bear Island to the mainland. They rode in relative silence for a while before old Beor broke the silence with a sharp laugh.

"What has tickled your fancy, Beor?" Lysandra asked, glancing over at him.

The old man leaned from the seat of the cart to look at Lysandra across Emory who was riding beside her. "The look on the young lord's face when you ride up straddling that horse in a dress with a sword in your belt." He cackled again before leaning back into the seat and pulling his furs tighter around his shoulder. The other men chuckled as well, and Lysandra barely succeeded in suppressing a smile. Yes, the Starks were northerners, but they were not the same as the Mormont's when it came to the role of women. Her hand ghosted over the hilt of Longclaw, reassuring herself that the family sword was still on her hip. It had been a pleasant surprise when she had found the Valyrian sword on her bed after her cousin Jorah had fled Bear Island in disgrace with his wife.

"And imagine his wedding night when he finds the knife she hides in her bosom." Benjamin said, punching Pryor in his shoulder as they rode.

"Imagine your morning when you wake to find I've used that knife to cut out your tongue, Ben." Lysandra said serenely, giving him a sweet smile. She was quite finished with their laughter at her expense. She had only just started to slowly come to terms with her pending nuptials; she did not need them making her more uncomfortable about the differences between her family traditions and the traditions of betrothed's family.

"Now, lass, they're only jesting." Emory said, walking his horse closer to Lysandra's and nudging her with his foot. "You're not the only one upset that you're leaving Bear Island."

The company went silent after that comment, and the smiles and laughter died. In Lysandra's sixteen years, all of these men had been friends and sparring partners with her. The first six years of her life had been a mild winter, while the last ten were summer, and through them all, these men had taught her to fight, hunt, fish, and prepare her for her place as Lady of Bear Island. They were as much her family as her mother and sisters were, and the thought of losing them brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away quickly – Mormont women did not cry. They did not show that kind of weakness.

* * *

For Lysandra, the three-day journey to Winterfell passed by far too quickly. Jory Cassel, the head of the Stark honor guard, and five guards met the company as they closed in on the castle. The closer Lysandra got to the walls of Winterfell, the thinner her pale, pink lips became until she was grimacing. There was no wind in Winterfell, and to Lysandra, it felt as if she was suffocating. As they rode through the gate, Lysandra spotted the Stark family lined in front of the entrance to the castle. It had been years since she had seen Lord Stark, but she recognized him standing beside his wife, Lady Catelyn. She could not distinguish between the children, but she assumed that the oldest looking young man would be Robb.

Lysandra pulled Storm to a stop in front of the family and handed the reins to Emory. Lord Eddard stepped forward to help her off the horse, but Lysandra had already dismounted and was smoothing her skirt and adjusting the furs around her shoulders before he could reach her.

"My lady." He said with a tight smile, grasping her hand and kissing it. His eyes flickered to the sword at her side that was visible underneath her furs, but his eyes moved back to her face quickly. "Welcome to Winterfell. May I introduce my family – my wife, Lady Catelyn, my daughters, Arya and Sansa, and my sons, Bran, Rickon, and Robb."

Lysandra swallowed as Lord Eddard stopped in front of his son Robb. Her betrothed. He was handsome, that much was obvious. He had the Tully coloring – red-brown hair on his head and in his beard, and brilliant blue eyes. He was taller than she had expected, and that meant that he was taller than her. Lysandra was not a tiny woman, but she was not as tall as her mother had been at her age. Unfortunately, it seemed that she would take after her father when it came to height.

Beor coughed behind her from the cart, and Lysandra gritted her teeth.

"It is an honor to meet you, my lord." She said jerkily as she descended into a half-curtsy. "Thank you for inviting me to your home."

"I am glad you arrived safely, my lady." Robb replied, and Lysandra noticed that he spoke as stiffly as she had. At least he was as unhappy with the situation as she.

"You are most welcome here, my dear. We are pleased that you arrived safely. I trust you were not troubled by weather?" Lady Catelyn said, stepping forward and hesitantly placing a hand on Lysandra's shoulder.

Lysandra did not shrug off the hand, but she did not lean into the touch either. "We were fortunate to not be trouble by a summer storm. It was an uneventful trip."

"I am glad. Perhaps you would like to come inside and warm up? We can have your things placed in a room and the men can have a warm meal before they leave." Catelyn said as she put a small amount of pressure on Lysandra's shoulder, pushing her towards the door to the castle.

Lysandra turned and looked at Emory for direction, and he nodded and smiled gently. She nodded back and said, "You will not leave without telling me." It was not a question.

"Of course not, cub." Beor said, standing up in the cart and slapping Emory on the back. "We won't be far."

Lysandra nodded and swallowed hard once again before turning back toward Lady Catelyn and allowing herself to be led into the castle. Quick footsteps followed behind them, and the youngest of the girls pulled on her hand.

"Is that a real sword?" Arya demanded, staring at the bear on the pommel.

Lysandra smiled and nodded. "Yes. It is made of Valyrian steel and is named Longclaw. It's been in my family for five centuries."

"My brother Robb says women shouldn't carry swords, but I think he's wrong." Arya said proudly, looking up at Lysandra. "My father has a sword made of Valyrian steel. It is named Ice. His sword is much bigger, though."

Lysandra bristled at the comment about women not carrying swords, and she felt Lady Catelyn's hand falter on her shoulder.

"Arya, perhaps we should let Lady Lysandra rest before you have any more questions. I am sure Maester Luwin or your Septa have lessons for you to study." Lady Catelyn said, giving the girl a firm look.

"She's fine, Lady Catelyn." Lysandra said to the older woman, attempting to give her a tight smile, but not succeeding. They had stopped in a small sitting room and Lysandra stepped up to the fireplace to warm herself by the fire. "My sword is smaller than Ice because Longclaw is a hand and a half sword, Arya. Your fathers' sword is a broadsword. It is much heavier and longer than mine, and therefore is not as maneuverable."

Arya flicked her eyes from Lysandra to Longclaw and back again before running to her mother and grasping her hands. "I want a sword like the one Lysandra has, mother!"

"Go and find Sansa and your Septa." Lady Catelyn said, pushing her daughter towards the door. "Lessons, now, Arya."

With one last look at Lysandra, Arya started toward the door, but she paused and turned around quickly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Arya. I will be here to answer more questions after your lessons. Now, do as your lady mother bids you, or she will never let us talk of swords again." Lysandra said with a smile, shooing the young girl with her hands.

Arya smiled at her before disappearing into the hallway. Lady Catelyn shut the door behind her with a small smile and a slight shake of her head. Lysandra turned back towards the fire, pulled the gloves off of her hands, placed them on top of the mantle, and held her palms toward the fire. Winterfell certainly wasn't as windy as Bear Island, but the cold was still as present as ever. Surprisingly, though, the castle didn't feel as shatteringly cold as it should have.

"I'm sorry to have excited Arya so much, Lady Catelyn." Lysandra said quietly with her back still to the woman. "I know that most men feel that women should not carry swords; however, it is not a thought that I spend much time pondering. I suppose I should try to not encourage your daughter, particularly if your lord husband and son do not approve."

A hint of sadness crept into Lysandra's voice at that thought. Would she have to fight Robb on this? Would she have to fight her husband to allow her own daughter to learn to wield a sword? To hunt? To fight? This would not have been a worry if she had stayed on Bear Island, married a lesser lord, and become the Lady of Bear Island. Instead, she willingly came to a place where women were not warriors. The feeling of suffocating came back to Lysandra and hit her so hard that she went to the nearest window at almost a run. She clawed at the wooden hatch that covered hole, and gasped in the fresh cold air as she flung the shutter open.

"Lysandra?"

The voice was soft behind her and Lysandra tried to calm herself. She pushed the furs off of her shoulders and let them drop to the floor. She was flustered and hot, and she couldn't understand why. Other than her mild panic attack, of course.

"I am well, my lady. For some reason I am just very warm." Lysandra panted as she felt the cool air wash over her. It was soothing her, slowly but surely.

"It is the hot springs, my lady. Winterfell was constructed above a multitude of hot springs so that the castle is naturally heated. It is still cool at night and during the winters, but it is much warmer than the castle on Bear Island, I imagine." Lady Catelyn stepped up behind the young woman and placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. She remembered what it was like to come from a different place with different traditions and be expected to marry a stranger. Even though Lysandra was a northerner, the Mormonts lived a life different from the Starks in many ways.

"However, I would appreciate it if you did not speak to Arya too much about swords and fighting, my lady. We hope to still raise her to be a proper and respectable lady."

Lysandra stiffened under Lady Catelyn's hand and stepped away from the older woman. She snatched her fallen furs off the floor and laid them across her arm before looking coldly at Lady Catelyn. "Yes, of course, my lady. Arya cannot possibly be a _respectable_ lady if she handles a sword like a man."

Lady Catelyn immediately regretted her choice of words and opened her mouth to speak, but Lysandra spoke again. "I find myself quite exhausted, Lady Stark. Do you think it possible for me to lie down before joining you and your family for the evening meal?"

Lysandra did not wait for an answer as she walked across the room, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway to wait for Lady Catelyn. She did not give the older woman much of a choice but to follow her. Lady Catelyn led Lysandra down the hallway until their path converged with that of a young dark haired woman.

"Alice will show you to your room, Lady Mormont. I suspect your things have already been brought up. Alice will come for you when it is time for supper." Lady Catelyn said with a small smile.

Lysandra did not return the smile as she mumbled a 'thank you' and followed Alice up a flight of stairs and through the castle. After they arrived at her room, Alice offered to keep Lysandra company but Lysandra claimed she was tired and wanted to rest. As Alice left, Lysandra shut the door firmly behind her before turning to her chest of clothing. She pulled out a tunic and a pair breeches, pulled off her sword belt and her dress, and then dressed in the tunic and breeches. She refastened the sword belt onto her hips and pulled her hair back from her face with a bit of cloth before she slipped quietly out the door and into the hall.

Lysandra Mormont felt a great need to hit something, and she was going to find an outlet.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Most of this belongs to George RR Martin. I just enjoy playing in the world he so graciously created for us.

I'm having a slightly difficult time writing in the vernacular, so if there are any obvious terms or phrases that stand out, please tell me and, if possible, offer an alternative. Any help or advice would be greatly appreciated.

Chapter Two

Lysandra retraced her and Alice's steps until she found herself outside the castle. She followed the sound of male voices and clashing steel to the training yard. There she found the men of Bear Island gathered with Jory Cassel, an older man with white hair and whiskers, and a younger man with a beard. They were watching Robb Stark spar with another young man with shoulder length black hair and a severe expression on his face. Lysandra walked up to Emory and stood beside him as she watched the two practice.

"Who's the pretty one?" She asked, nodding her head in the direction of the dark haired man.

"Jon Snow. The Stark bastard." Emory told her quietly.

"Ah."

Lysandra watched the two as they sparred, and she had to admit that they were not terrible. However, she doubted that they had ever killed anyone with those swords. She still remembered the shock of killing a wildling that had attempted to circumvent the wall using a boat and had landed on Bear Island with the rest of his group.

"Lady Lysandra."

The young man with the beard appeared in front of her so quickly that her left hand instinctively went to the grip of her sword. The man noticed her movement and smirked slightly.

"I am Theon Greyjoy. The ward of Eddard Stark. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"You are Balon Greyjoy's son? Of the Iron Islands?" Lysandra snapped her head to look at Emory and then Beor. Why had they stood here in companionable silence with this ironborn menace?

"I am. I'm sure that it is a refreshing experience to meet an ironborn that doesn't have his sword to your throat." Theon said, smirking again.

Lysandra could not control herself, and before she knew it, she had balled her left hand into a fist and punched the young lord in the face. She felt the bones of his nose crack underneath her fist and a gush of warm blood spread over her hand.

"Shit!" Theon gasped, his hands flying to his face in shock as he staggered back from her.

Lysandra was panting hard, her chest heaving. The yard went silent at Theon's exclamation, and she looked around to see both Jon and Robb staring at her, their swords still in their hands.

"Those who are foolish enough to raid a poor island and attack its inhabitants deserve to die." Lysandra pulled her sword from its sheath and leveled it at him, placing the point against his throat. "An ironborn has never had the chance to place a blade at my throat, yet you've been bested by a mere woman. Perhaps I should put an end to your foolish pride once and for all."

Emory placed his hand on her arm and spoke quietly into her ear. "My lady, now is not the time. An audience has gathered, and slitting the throat of Lord Stark's ward is not the best way to start off a betrothal. Besides, he has been in Winterfell since the failed rebellion, and before that, he was too young to know of the raids."

"He is still ironborn." Lysandra said through gritted teeth, but she lowered her sword and sheathed it. It was then that she noticed the audience that Emory had mentioned. Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard had appeared at the edge of the yard and were watching the exchange, and Lysandra felt a sudden rush of shame wash over her. It was immediately followed by anger, however, as she realized that the shame was in response to the violent reaction, not her hasty and ill-thought actions.

"Let's take a walk, cub." Beor said as he stepped over to Lysandra and pulled her away from the crowd.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and the farther that they got from the training yard, the angrier Lysandra became.

"This is a terrible idea, Beor."

He looked over at the young woman that was supposed to be the next Lady of Bear Island, and he hated to see the look of misery on her face.

"What if I just married the bastard and took him back to Bear Island? That way Lord Stark gets one of his sons married, I get to go home, and Robb can marry some pretty little lady from the south. That would be more beneficial for everyone, honestly."

"That's not what Lord Stark wants, though."

"Well fuck what Lord Stark wants. No one asked me what I wanted." Lysandra scowled, wrapping her arms around herself. In her haste to change clothes and find something to hit, she had forgotten her furs.

Beor let out a bark of laughter and shook his head. "Listen to me, cub. You can't keep thinking of it like that, or else you'll never find any sort of happiness here. And you can't threaten to kill the Greyjoy whelp either."

"Lady Stark doesn't want me to talk to her youngest daughter about swords and fighting, Beor. She said that I wasn't a proper or respectable lady."

"And since when have you cared about being a proper or respectable lady?"

"I am respectable." Lysandra demanded, standing up a little straighter and dropping her arms to her side. "I am honorable, I am strong, and I would teach Arya many things that a woman needs to know besides stitching and parroting the words of a septa." She paused for a moment and then continued. "I cannot stay in a place with people who believe that I should not carry a sword; that I should not fight alongside men; that my daughters will not have the same worth and strength as their brothers."

"Perhaps the young Lord Robb doesn't believe those things. Perhaps he thinks differently from his lord parents."

Lysandra scoffed and stopped walking. She grabbed Beor by his arm and squeezed. "Most likely, the young Lord Robb does not have a single original thought in his head, and instead relies on the beliefs of his father. He will have me pregnant and disarmed a month after we are wed; I know it, Beor."

"That is a rather harsh and quick judgement, don't you think, my lady?"

Beor and Lysandra turned to see Robb walking toward them with a blank expression on his face. Lysandra gritted her teeth and suppressed a growl; that was the second time today that one of these men had gotten close to her without her knowing.

"Do you mind if I speak with the lady alone, my lord?" Robb asked, inclining his head toward Beor.

"Not at all, my lord." Beor said, reciprocating the gesture. Before he stepped away, he whispered to Lysandra, "Behave, cub. I do not need to start a war in the north because you killed the Stark heir."

Lysandra glared at his retreating back before focusing her eyes on the young lord in front of her. Robb Stark. Her betrothed.

"You broke Theon's nose." Robb said conversationally, as he started walking in the same direction Lysandra and Beor had been going. She started to follow him after a few moments, lengthening her stride to catch up with him, her hand on the pommel of Longclaw.

A shiver passed through her as a small gust of wind swirled around them. It was nowhere near as strong as on Bear Island, but it chilled her nonetheless. She cursed herself for forgetting her furs and for pulling her hair back. The cold air was assailing her exposed neck and creeping down her body between her clothing and skin.

To take her mind off her chill, Lysandra observed Robb from the corner of her eye. When she first met him, she had noticed that he was tall; however, standing beside him now, she realized that he was a full head taller than her. She did not like that at all. He was broad-shouldered from what she could tell – after all, he was smart enough to wear his furs. He had a longsword hanging on his side. It was well made, of course, but she would have expected nothing less.

"I should have killed him." Lysandra replied resolutely. "The ironborn have raided Bear Island for years, claiming it as their own. They're cowards."

"I've grown up with Theon." Robb said stonily. "He is as much my brother as Jon, Bran, or Rickon. I trust him with my life."

"Then you are a fool."

"That is the second time you have insulted me today. If I were a lesser man, I would have put an end to it."

Lysandra let out a bark of laughter and stepped in front of him, placing her hand on his chest, forcing him to stop walking. She raised her head and looked him in the eye before saying, "Anytime you think you are ready to 'put an end to it,' you let me know, _my lord_. I will happily knock you on your pretty little lord arse."

Lysandra smirked before stepping around him and walking back toward the keep. "See you at evening meal, my lord." She called over her shoulder.

* * *

Lysandra felt her heart contract at the sight of her men atop their horses. Beor, Emory, Benjamin, Pryor, Roarke, and Angus. All surrogate fathers or brothers. And they were abandoning her.

"I could stay, my lady." Emory said, looking down at her. "I don't think the Starks would be opposed to you retaining a guard."

Lysandra's heart leapt at the thought, but she shook her head. "Bear Island needs every capable person. And my sisters need good instructors." She paused. "I will be fine."

Emory nodded. "Well, Bear Island is only a few days' ride. If you need us…"

He left the sentence open ended, and Lysandra nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak. She had embraced each one before they had mounted their horses, but now she found herself wanting to hug them again.

"Farewell, cub." Beor said, and Lysandra could have sworn that she saw a tear in the corner of his eye.

"Farewell." She whispered as they turned and rode through the gates.

She was a bear in a den of wolves, and she had never felt more vulnerable. Bears were fierce, but even they went down when outnumbered.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Most of this belongs to George RR Martin. I just enjoy playing in the world he so graciously created for us.

~~~The rating of this story is now M for Mature~~~

* indicates that the lines were taken from _A Game of Thrones_ by George RR Martin.

I'm going to assume that in the north they were able to invent socks… especially for the lords/ladies. Just FYI

Chapter Three

Lysandra had taken to wandering the castle after her arrival in Winterfell. She broke her fast each morning when the sun rose in her room and dressed in breeches, a tunic, boots, and her furs before heading down to the kitchens to find Alice. Lysandra had become fond of the girl, and Alice would pack her a light lunch of bread, cheese, and a flagon of water in a cloth sack. Lysandra would wander the both the inhabited and uninhabited parts of the castle throughout the day before joining the Stark family, the Greyjoy boy, and the bastard for dinner in the dining hall. The evening meals occurred mostly in silence, with Lysandra only speaking when asked a direct question. Occasionally, she would find herself in the Godswood, and she would bring a book from the library to keep her company. The most interaction she had with anyone in Winterfell was with Bran and Alice. She found that as she explored the many towers, ramparts, and floors of Winterfell, she also found that Bran was capable of climbing almost any wall. They occasionally ran across one another and, some days, she would share her lunch with him. She allowed him to talk as much as he liked, and she learned many secrets about the castle. *He told her about a covered bridge that went from the fourth floor of the bell tower across to the second floor of the rookery, and about how you could get inside the inner wall by the south gate, climb three floors and run all the way around Winterfell through a narrow tunnel in the stone, and then come out on ground level at the north gate. The boy was incredibly well informed about the castle and the way it was built.

Lysandra had not returned to the training yard since her first day in Winterfell two weeks ago, and she ached to raise her sword, even if it was in practice. She had attempted a few exercises in her room to maintain her upper body strength without fighting, but it was not as fulfilling as having her muscles ache after a long day of training or work on a fishing boat or hunting. She missed being tired, for real and for true. She was restless and weary, and it was beginning to show.

"My lady?"

They were seated in the dining hall one evening when Ned addressed Lysandra as she pushed her food around on her plate. She did not hear him at first.

"Lady Lysandra?"

Lysandra's head jerked up at the sound of her name, some heat rising in her cheeks as her embarrassment. "Yes, my lord Stark?"

"Are you well, my lady?" Catelyn asked the young girl, her eyes searching Lysandra's face. She had noticed the girl become quiet and retreat from interaction with the family and she barely ate.

"Yes, my lady. Thank you." Lysandra said, offering a half-smile and nodding before turning her eyes back to her full plate. She was not very hungry and she felt guilty at the amount of food offered at evening meals, and she felt guilty for not eating. There was never this much food on Bear Island, even for the Mormont's. She cut a piece of fowl and placed it in her mouth, chewing slowly.

"We have planned the wedding ceremony a fortnight from now." Lady Catelyn said with a soft smile.

Lysandra choked then, coughing harshly before taking a few gulps of wine from her glass. She gasped air into her lungs before looking at the woman, her eyes stinging. "What?" She gasped.

"It seems best. There are preparations to make, and it will give you a bit more time to… spend in Winterfell." Catelyn said, her eyes sliding from Lysandra to Robb, who was staring straight ahead.

Lysandra nodded once, then drained her cup of wine. "Yes, my lady. That is agreeable." She stood. "If you will pardon me, my lords and ladies, I would like to visit the Godswood."

She did not wait for an answer before walking out of the hall, her hands shaking. Lysandra knew that it would not be long before she was wed, but it hit her hard all the same. Her mother had spoken to her of the consummation of marriages and the pain that went along with it. It was not the pain that worried Lysandra; it was the intimacy of it. She had heard stories of strong women being seduced and convinced to conform to the usual role of a wife. Apparently, sex was a powerful tool and some men were able to use it against their wives. She also knew that most men preferred soft and pretty ladies – those without scars and battle wounds and taught muscles of hard work. Robb Stark would not be pleased with a wife whose body showed signs of work and fighting. It didn't matter what Robb Stark thought of his wife, though, because there was nothing she could change about it.

Once in the Godswood, wrapped in her furs, Lysandra did not know what to do. She could pray, but she did not know what to pray for. Guidance? Strength? Patience? She stepped up to the heart tree and placed a hand on it, then her forehead, and closed her eyes. Perhaps the old gods would understand the feelings inside her and take those as prayers. She was ashamed of her behavior over the past fortnight – she had behaved like a petulant child and a recluse. However, she did not know her place in Winterfell. On Bear Island, she was a hunter, a fisherman, a fighter, and a lady learning to rule the island. Here in Winterfell she was an outsider, and someone who believed and behaved differently from most of the people in the castle and outlying town.

She let out a sigh before raising her head and turning from the heart tree. She stepped back in surprise, her back hitting the face of the tree, when she found Robb Stark standing not too far from her.

"Apologies, my lady, I did not mean to startle you… I did not want to disturb you."

Lysandra straightened her back and pulled her furs tighter. "I was not startled. You merely caught me off guard. I will take my leave, now, and allow you time with the gods." As she moved to step away from the weirwood, Robb stepped toward her.

"I had hoped to speak with you, my lady."

"Oh."

"You break your fast early and then disappear for the day, and I have not wanted to disturb you whilst you are in the godswood… however, I find that we should speak. The ceremony is in a fortnight and I still know nothing about you."

Lysandra was silent for a moment because he had caught her off guard. She had not made herself available for conversation, and by doing so, she had set herself up to not know Robb Stark at all before they were married. She was lucky enough to have a month to interact with her betrothed before their marriage, and that was a rarity. And making an effort was not conceding to him or his beliefs; it was attempting to circumvent a miserable marriage.

"And what would you like to know, my lord?" Lysandra asked as she leant against the weirwood. She was hoping to block a small breeze that had begun to weave its way through the godswood.

"Robb." He said, giving her a small smile.

At least he was making an effort.

"And what would you like to know, Robb?"

"What was it like growing up on Bear Island?' He asked, stepping towards her again. He was a commanding figure, even when not in boiled leather armor. Robb had dressed for the evening meal in a tunic and breeches, dark black boots, and he now had on a large cloak with fur around the neck. Lysandra believed he was far warmer than she because, in an attempt to appease the Starks, she had taken to wearing dresses to the evening meal.

"Bear Island was magnificent." She said with a small smile. "Mormont Keep is not as large as Winterfell, but it was home to me and my sisters. Beor and Emory started training me when I was young… perhaps five or six. They taught me to hunt, fish, and fight. The women have to pull as much weight as the men on Bear Island because food is scarce and when the men go on fishing trips the women have to be able to protect themselves from the ironborn and the wildlings."

"Did you have much trouble from the ironborn and wildlings?" Robb stepped closer.

"Yes. The ironborn would send raiding parties occasionally, and the wildlings would end up on Bear Island when they used boats to try and get around the wall." Lysandra wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm. "The first man I killed was a wildling. I was thirteen."

Robb stopped moving and stared at her. "You killed a wildling?"

She scoffed and flicked her eyes up at him. "Yes. Just because you do not put much faith in women as warriors does not mean that everyone does."

Robb narrowed his eyes. "That is not-"

Lysandra held up her hand and said, "Apologies, my lord. I realize that was likely not meant as an insult." She paused, focusing her eyes on a tree behind Robb. "If I am honest, it was not my skill that allowed me to prevail. There is a part of Bear Island on the eastern coast that is very rocky and I would spend time there. I knew every rock, crevice, and dip in the land. I was walking along that stretch of land when I saw him running towards me… and I panicked. I drew my sword and blocked the blows from his axe, but he was stronger and taller than me. His axe cut me along my front; it was not deep, but it was long and I was bleeding… so I ran for the keep, yelling for help. He followed me, and as we were running along the rocks, he slipped on the moss that covered many of the rocks, fell, and hit his head. I stopped and saw that he had fallen and was bleeding badly… and I walked over to him and slit his throat."

She fell silent as she continued to stare at the tree behind Robb. She had never told anyone the entire truth of the story because it would have been shameful.

"You were a young girl. Your actions are commendable." Robb said, placing a hand on her arm.

Lysandra jerked away from him and backed into the tree. "Commendable? I should not have run; I should not have killed him while he was down. I was a coward and dishonorable. I am a Mormont and Mormont's are not cowards."

"It was not cowardly, my lady. You killed someone who would have killed you or someone else that you were sworn to protect."

Lysandra shook her head but did not reply. It had been three years since she had killed the man, and her questionably honorable actions still plagued her thoughts. Absolution from Robb Stark was not enough to take the weight from her mind.

"I think that is enough for tonight, my lo-… Robb. Perhaps tomorrow after the evening meal we could speak here." Lysandra stepped around him. "We'll talk about your childhood tomorrow." She gave him a small smile before walking away.

* * *

Lysandra was walking back to her rooms to change into a dress for the evening meal when she met Theon Greyjoy in one of the hallways. Her hand grasped the grip of Longclaw tighter as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Lady Lysandra." He said snidely with a smirk. He stepped towards her. "What a pleasant surprise."

Lysandra glared at him as she took a step back and calculated how far from the staircase she was.

"Surprise? You are prowling outside of my room." She said coldly, stepping backward again as he continued to advance. "I suggest you stay where you are, Greyjoy. I will gladly blacken your eye or break your nose again for you."

"Prowling is such a primitive term… Lurking would be better suited to my house sigil. A kraken would lurk in the murky water as it waited to strike." Theon stopped moving and stared at her. "Why is it that you room so far from your betrothed? Surely you should be finding comfort in him during such a lonely time."

"I do not like what you are insinuating, Greyjoy. I will suggest again that you move along and leave me be." Lysandra pulled her sword from its sheath only slightly, enjoying the quiet _snick_ that it emitted.

Theon raised his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender and flashed her a cold smile. "Ah, I see. You must be one of the northern women who actually are frigid. Pity; mine and Robb's experience in town has been rather warm… Perhaps that is why you are roomed so far away." He winked before sliding past a dumbfounded Lysandra.

Lysandra continued to her room and slammed the door in frustration. Had Theon Greyjoy just implied that Robb visited the brothel outside of the castle walls? Lysandra knew that men were patrons of such establishments, but the thought disturbed and angered her. She was pacing the room when someone knocked on her door and cracked it open.

"My lady?" Alice asked, poking her head in the door. "Are you ready for me to help you dress?"

Lysandra shook her head. "I am not hungry, Alice. Would you please send my apologies to the lord and lady Stark?"

"Are you unwell, my lady?" Alice asked, stepping further into the room.

"I am fine, Alice. I would just like to be alone." Lysandra snapped. She immediately regretted being harsh to the young woman. "I'm sorry, Alice. Would you please leave me to my thoughts?"

"Yes, my lady." Alice said quietly, backing out of the room and closing it behind her.

Lysandra unbuckled her sword belt and placed it on her bed before sitting down in a chair, unlacing her boots, and tossing them into the corner. She paced around the room in her sock-covered feet as she began braiding her hair into a single braid. Robb seemed like an honorable man; surely he would not visit brothels on a regular basis… Then again, Ned Stark seemed very honorable and he fathered a bastard.

There was a knock on the door and Lysandra opened the door, saying, "I told you, Alice, I would like to be alone." She froze when she saw Robb standing in her doorway. She narrowed her eyes. "I would like to be alone, my lord." Lysandra made to close the door but Robb stopped her from pushing it closed with his hand.

"We were going to discuss my childhood this evening, Lysandra. Are you unwell?" He asked.

"I am quite well, actually. I just became privy to certain knowledge that made me need time alone. Is that quite alright?" Lysandra turned her head to the side to emphasize her condescending tone.

"Actually, it isn't. You received no ravens, therefore I cannot imagine what news you would have received while in Winterfell that would be so upsetting that you would choose to skip the evening meal and our plan to speak this evening." Robb stated as he pushed past her and walked into her room, pausing in the middle to turn and face her. "So, what is it that has upset you?"

Lysandra glared at his forwardness, but shut the door just the same. She crossed her arms and stared at him. "Theon Greyjoy thinks that I am frigid – partially due to the fact that I am housed particularly far from you as well as the fact that I have chosen to spend the majority of my time away from you. He also mentioned that you and he have experience with non-frigid northern women and that I would be disappointing."

Robb started laughing, and continued laughing until he was bent over at the waist and his eyes were watering. Lysandra stared at him in disbelief as he continued to laugh.

"Stop laughing at me." Lysandra growled, pushing his shoulder.

Robb straightened up and attempted to stifle his laughter, but he could not contain it. "I'm sorry." He gasped between laughs. He wiped at his eyes and shook his head. "I just… I just… You have killed men and you let Theon Greyjoy hurt your feelings?"

"He did _not_ hurt my feelings." Lysandra said loudly, punching out at Robb. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, securing her other hand as well.

"I do not enjoy being hit." He said, sobering slightly, though his eyes were still light with laughter.

"Well I do not enjoy being laughed at." Lysandra said, struggling to free herself. "I also do not like being humiliated."

"You are not humiliated, Lysandra. Theon was lying."

The statement hung between them for a moment, and then Lysandra said, "So you have not…"

Robb shook his head. "Neither with a whore or otherwise. I think that it comes down to respect – I would prefer that my future wife be with no one else, so I have been with no one else."

"Oh."

Her anger was replaced with embarrassment. Theon had gotten the exact reaction from her that he had wanted, and she fell directly into his trap. Lysandra's embarrassment rose when she realized how close she was to Robb. He had pulled her flush against him and she had to lean her head back to see his face. She was acutely aware of how warm he was and how large his hands were in comparison to hers as he lightened his grip on her wrists.

"He got the better of me." Lysandra said quietly, giving him a lopsided smile.

Robb laughed again. "Occasionally he does that. I would not worry about it too much."

Lysandra stepped back from him and he let go of her wrists slowly. "I suppose we could go to the evening meal now…"

Robb nodded and offered her his arm. "My lady."

Lysandra smiled and rolled her eyes, but took his arm anyway. "Let's just go. I'm hungry."


End file.
